


Toy

by thirium goddess (sweetbabydean)



Series: Bad Thoughts [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 14:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbabydean/pseuds/thirium%20goddess
Summary: Pretty much a self-indulgent thing where the reader gets ridiculed for being sexually abused... please don’t read if that’s triggering! This was purely for therapeutic purposes.Too dark for tumblr.





	Toy

“Pathetic sluts like you don’t deserve to breathe.”

“I know.”

“No, pet, I don’t think you do.”

The hand around your neck tightens, your eyes rolling back at the pressure. You wish you had been warned about men like him when you were younger, but the people who were supposed to protect you were too busy ruining you. So instead of finding good men to settle down with, like your friends, you find yourself in the bed of a sadist, dripping off poisoned words from a forked tongue. 

“You come to me, but even I have standards. What use do I have for damaged goods?”

You sit straighter, eyes widening. A muffled whimper claws its way out of your throat, even as he briefly releases you.

“It’s rather disgusting, you know. To think that I would stoop low enough to want you. After all who have touched you? We have words for slutty little girls like you. I think the proper term is a ‘party favor’, no? Enough to go around for everyone.”

“S-Sixty.”

“S-Sixty,” he mocks. “Pitiful, really. Your parents should be ashamed of you. Tell me something. Do they know what a whore their precious daughter is?”

You don’t answer; you don’t know how to. There are few people who know what happened to you and you had told Sixty in confidence one drunken night after too many shots of rum. You didn’t expect him to use it against you, to ridicule you so deeply for something you know you couldn’t help. But in some twisted way it feels good to have someone reinforce all the ideas you have about yourself. To know that you are worthless and your partner expects nothing more.

“How cute. You’re crying!” He points out, grin feral. “Awh, did the poor, little slut get her feelings hurt?”

A hand caresses your face, swiping at your wet cheeks. You want to tug away, but there’s not anywhere for you to go. You’re ashamed, confidence you worked so hard to gain shattering in a matter of minutes. You can’t fight it.

“Mm, nothing prettier than a ruined little girl,” he hums, pinching at your skin. “What a pretty picture you make.”

“Nuh,” you whimper, shying away from those horrid, untrue words. 

Sixty stares you in the eye for what feels like forever, licking his lips as more tears fall from your eyes. He knows first hand that there is beauty in tragedy and you are the prettiest tragedy of them all. 

“Yes,” he says with finality, no room for protest. “I can’t wait to use you just like everyone else has. But don’t worry, I want hurt you too much. A broken toy is, after all, of no use to me.”

“Please,” you cry, giving in. You accept your fate — your place beneath him.

Sixty smirks. He loves it when you beg.


End file.
